


All That You Never Were

by russetmantle



Category: Hatari (Band)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Oral Sex, RPF, Rough Sex, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 21:32:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19281592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russetmantle/pseuds/russetmantle
Summary: Matthías is seduced after-hours by the bar manager at the venue where Hatari are playing.





	All That You Never Were

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hoppskibjack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoppskibjack/gifts).



> I hadn't written any fic for a while, so I went seeking a prompt on the NSFW writing area of the Hatari fan Discord. I offered to write anything the first person to respond asked for according to their specific brief. First to respond was Hoppskibjack, with quite a detailed brief, which was really helpful. To be honest, I'm more of a Klemens person, myself - but the customer gets what the customer wants, and Hopps wanted a Matthías fic with explicit sex, so here it is. Don't say I'm not good to you, Hopps. ;-)

What you need to understand about me is that I have a fast mouth. Smartass talker, that’s me. Was always getting into trouble for it as a kid. Always ready with the sassy comeback and could talk the legs off the kitchen table, as my mum always used to say. I guess that’s how I ended up landing the job of bar manager at the Opium Lighthouse with zero experience. Not heard of it? I’m not surprised. It’s a pretty new venue and not very big, but the bands they’re getting through the doors right now are phenomenal, let me tell you.

Actually, do you want to hear a story? You can be my confessor, I suppose. I’m still not sure I’ve got my head around it fully. I just…well…let me tell you about the time Hatari came to town.

One of the best bands around right now, in my opinion. Of course, the gig was amazing. The audience went absolutely wild for all their antics and Klemens never sounded better, I reckon. But I want to tell you about the weirdass thing that happened afterwards, when the crowd had finally all shuffled out to wend their respective weary ways home and even the performers and their crew had finished their load out and headed back to their hotel.

So there I am, cashing up at the end of the night as usual. I shout a happy cheerio to Mark, the manager, as he heads home. Some nights he locks up the venue, some nights I do it – it’s my turn tonight, and I’m enjoying some excellent post-gig me-time, all alone in the hall. I like these moments. I like the total contrast between the frenetic noise of the gigs and the pure silence of the deserted building afterwards. Maybe because it’s the only silence I feel completely comfortable with, that I don’t feel I somehow have to break.

So I’m finishing up at the bar, when suddenly, Matthías from Hatari walks out onto the stage and sits down on it, muttering to himself. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t seen me. He’s taken off the spiked outer harness and the leather jacket, but he’s still in the rest of his stage outfit – leather straps and a few small spikes here and there – looking cute as all hell and I just enjoy watching him for a couple of minutes, relishing the fact he doesn’t know I’m here. But eventually, of course, I feel that I should say something, right? Alert him to my presence, you know?

“Hello?”

His head snaps up.

“Oh…hi! I didn’t know anyone was still here.”

“Lucky for you I am still here, sweet cheeks, or else you’d have got locked in. I was just about to lock up and head home.”

He leaps up, looking apologetic.

“Shit – sorry. Of course. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed some time to myself. Things have been a little overwhelming lately. I just…”

And I actually feel quite sorry for him; he looks tired. In fact, he looks uncannily like a vulnerable puppy, which is a strange contrast indeed from the Hatari persona I’m used to seeing. But I get it…I totally do. What a bizarre life he must be leading at the moment, the sudden fame and all that. After all, nobody founds an industrial techno band in Reykjavík expecting to become an international star. Things have definitely not been going according to plan, no matter what he usually says. I take pity on him.

“Oh – don’t worry about it, hun. Here, why don’t you come over here and have a beer on the house, to say thanks for that awesome concert you just bestowed upon us? I’ve been here all night, I mean…what’s another twenty minutes?”

I flash him my brightest grin and he smiles, looking more relaxed.

“Oh well, thank you very much. I appreciate it.”

He climbs down off the stage and starts making his way over to the bar. As he moves closer through the half-light, brief flashes irregularly illuminating his features, I am struck by just how beautiful he looks, much more so in real life, somehow. I become aware I’m staring and look away just before he reaches me.

“Which beer would you like? We don’t have a huge choice, I’m afraid…”

“Oh, anything is OK. Whatever’s not selling well.”

I pour the beer and place the glass on the end of the bar.

“Tough at the top, eh?”

He chuckles.

“Well, I’m not sure we’re at the top, really, but yes. It’s been…interesting. Sometimes I feel like public property now. It can get too much.”

“You find people mistake the real Matthías for the Hatari Matthías?”

He sighs.

“It can seem that way sometimes.”

He sips his beer and looks at me a little too long with that ice-blue gaze before casting his eyes down. Probably just my fevered imagination, I tell myself. I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood.

“Well…I suppose you can’t blame them really. I mean, you guys really have gone all-in on the sexiness factor, haven’t you? I mean, who wouldn’t want to believe that sexy dominant Hatari Matthías is the real one? I mean…”

“Sometimes he is the real one.”

“Um.”

He laughs.

“Well, I mean, I enjoy pretending to be him, that’s all. It can be fun, you know? I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t fun. But it’s just a game. I’m not really like that, obviously.”

He’s leaning on the bar and so am I, so close I could touch him if I dared. But, of course, I don’t dare – not yet.

“Well, Matthías, I know a lot of people who would dearly love to have him do very bad things to them. I mean, I don’t blame them. I’d like that myself, to be honest. Oh sorry, shit…that was too honest. Sorry. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m just here to give you beer and say thanks very much and make sure you don’t get locked in. That’s all, yes. Really sorry about that.”

Shit shit shit. There I go again, motormouth. Why can’t I shut up? I feel very embarrassed, but Matthías just looks amused by my babbling and my obvious fluster.

“People are not usually so…direct. I appreciate your honesty. I’m sure bad Matthías would like to do bad things to a lovely woman like you too. However, I am not him, as you know.”

His eyes sparkle as he grins, and something snaps in me. I don’t think I’ll ever understand why, but at this point I step around to the other side of the bar so that I’m standing next to him, place my hand on the small of his back, letting the fingertips play a little, and lean into his ear.

“But you said sometimes he is the real Matthías.”

It can only be twenty seconds of silence, but it feels like three weeks. It takes all of my self-control not to say anything more as I watch him stare down into the bar, saying nothing, biting his lip. He’s struggling with his conscience, and – God help me – I so, so want him to lose the struggle. But there’s nothing more I can do. The decision has to be his. Consent is key.

Eventually he exhales, swallows hard, and turns his head to look at me. He’s not smiling now.

“Are you absolutely sure this is what you want?” he asks, reaching out and running his fingers through my hair. I nod, dumbly.

“You have to be very sure. Because once I start this, I…may find it difficult to stop.”

“I’m very sure.”

He drains the last of his beer, places the glass down gently on the bar and turns to face me, drawing himself up to his full height. He gently but firmly grips my upper arm and moves me away from the bar.

“Over here, where I can see you better.”

He is looking down at me, cupping my chin in his hand, and I see exactly the moment when the transformation happens. It is subtle but unmistakable. This is not the man I was talking to five minutes ago. This is someone else. It’s in his eyes; it’s in his bearing; it’s in how he holds his head. It’s in the expression on his face, almost but not quite a sneer. It’s in the manner he exudes, as if I am nothing to him, or nothing more than an expendable toy at least, nothing more than a cheap slut to be used. And really, I think, that’s exactly what I’ve just proven myself to be, haven’t I?

He reaches up behind his neck and unbuckles his studded collar.

“Kneel.”

I drop to my knees, my mind in a whirl.

“Turn around.”

I turn to face away from him, and sense him leaning down behind me. He wraps the collar around my neck and fastens it, so it is snug but not too tight.

“Now. Get up and face me.”

I do as he says and he puts his fingers around my throat and begins to stroke my hair, over and over again, not dropping his gaze. Still looking straight into my eyes – all trace of warmth gone from his, only two cold rocks of ice piercing through me now – he unzips his fly and pulls out his cock, which is already hard. He wraps my hair around his hand and pulls me to his chest.

“I want service. Make it good.”

He takes his hand out of my hair and pushes down on my shoulders, even though I am already eagerly dropping to my knees of my own accord. I start by licking the shaft of his cock, trying to cover each side, occasionally flicking my tongue over the top, before taking all of it into my mouth, bringing my right hand in to the base of the shaft, a slight twisting rub to the base now and again as I move my mouth up and down – a move that elicits a slight gasp from him, I note, with some satisfaction – and I dare to look up at him, and he’s looking down at me and puts his hands into my hair again, grasping, holding, and I turn back to my task, my jaw aching now, but it feels right that it should, and the heady mingling scents of his sweat and musky male stench are repelling me and enchanting me in equal measure, and I can feel him moving his hips into me, holding my head steady, starting to fuck my face, and I know that this is where I should be, this is what I should be doing, giving everything, everything…

I feel myself jerk backwards. He’s taken me off his cock, pulling me by the hair. He is staring at me intensely, raw aggression in his eyes, his breathing heavy and fast. I want to help him.

“We keep condoms behind the bar…that is, if you want to fuck me…not that you have to, of course, I mean…just if you want to…I mean, I’d like that, but I don’t know whether you…”

“You talk too much,” he snarls.

I feel contrite and like I should be apologizing.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I know I talk too much, I just…”

I feel the slap before I see it coming. I am shocked into silence.

“Shut up.”

He puts his fingers round the collar and drags me to my feet.

“Get a condom and put it on my cock.”

I scurry behind the bar and fetch one, ripping it open clumsily, and I kneel in front of him to place it on the top of his cock and then unfurl it carefully. He adjusts it himself then looks at me again. This time he puts his hand around my throat and pulls me up onto my feet, then slams me into the wall, and presses his body against mine. After a few seconds he steps back, seeming to regain his composure.

“I want to see more of you. Take those damn clothes off. All of them.”

I feel awkward as I strip under his relentless gaze. But I do as he says, and kick the small pile of clothes over towards the bar. I stand with my back to the wall, naked except for his collar, feeling totally exposed. Does he like what he sees? It’s impossible to tell by the expression on his face. Finally, he comes over to me, pushes his body against mine, runs his hands from my shoulders down my back to my hips, then suddenly he lifts me off my feet and I instinctively wrap my arms around his neck, and I can feel his cock thrusting into my cunt. I hear a guttural moan and it is a fraction of a second before I recognise the sound as my own voice. He fucks me, he fucks me, he fucks me, he fucks me, and with every thrust I can feel a thousand sensations exploding through my body and brain, the feeling of his cock using my willing cunt, the scraping of the brickwork against the skin on my back, the lights in the hall a kaleidoscope as my head is jolted back and forth, and for the first time in my life I finally understand what it means to be completely, utterly, gloriously out of control, because every cell in my body, every sinew, every muscle, every nerve ending, every morsel of my being is screaming at me to let this man have me, yes, let him have me, however he wants, let him do whatever he wants, let him use me however he wants, and my own breathing is coming faster now, and I look down and see the muscles straining in his shoulders and upper back, the droplets of sweat trickling down his neck, and I can feel it starting, and suddenly I’m cumming, throwing my head back, arching my back, the orgasm so powerful that I’m screaming as if I’m not human, or don’t care whether I am or not, and I hear him, a moaning growl as he orgasms too, a desperate need fulfilled.

I feel the last vestiges of ecstasy wash through me, my cunt clenching his cock with a final few strong spasms as he shudders and buries his head in my shoulder.

He lets me down gently onto the floor. I am vaguely aware of him moving away to dispose of the condom, but he is back almost immediately, and we embrace, silently, against the wall.

Eventually, he lifts his head to look at me, and I see that the real man is back, which is exactly what I need right now. His eyes are warm and soft again.

“You didn’t even tell me your name,” he says, quietly.

I can feel the first unwelcome rivulets of loss seeping into the edges of my euphoria.

“It’s…probably better it stays that way,” I reply.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, if you really think so…”

He takes a couple of steps back and sighs.

“I have to go. I need to get my things…”

“Of course. Off you go. I’ll lock up afterwards.”

He smiles and walks back towards the stage. As he climbs up onto it, I remember something.

“Wait, Matthías! You forgot your collar…”

“Keep it. We have plenty more. A small gift to remember me by.”

He smiles warmly, and for the first time in my life I don’t know what to say. All I can manage is…

“Takk fyrir…”

He laughs, blows me a kiss, nods his head once, then turns to go. He walks off the stage into the wings, and out of my life.

My legs kind of buckle under me and there I am, sitting naked on the floor, alone in the hall once more, fingering the collar and wondering what the hell just happened.

I can see you’re shocked by my little story. I don’t blame you, really. That’s the thing about me – I’m a fast talker and sometimes it gets me into trouble, but sometimes it gets me…somewhere else. I don’t know. I still don’t really understand what happened that night, but do you know what? I don’t regret it, not one moment of it.

Oh hey – you’ve finished your drink. Can I buy you another?


End file.
